


Golden spires

by DecorDilemma



Series: MegaRod Week 2020 [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Class Differences, M/M, No Cybertronian Civil War, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:55:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26996266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DecorDilemma/pseuds/DecorDilemma
Summary: Megatron arrives in Iacon, but there's a problem.The gate to the city is shut.
Relationships: Megatron/Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: MegaRod Week 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969036
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Megarod Week





	Golden spires

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for MegaRod Week day 2, for the prompts Misunderstanding & Trust.  
> This is a slice of a bigger AU that only exists in bits and pieces, so I've added some context in the author's notes after the fic.

“That’s that, then. The gate’s shut.” Impactor kicked an empty can, no doubt left on the side of the highway by some other hopeful. “Come on, Megs. We ain’t getting in.”

Megatron shook his helm and stepped aside so Impactor could transform. “No. I have a passport, I have an admission letter, and we’re here two days early. I’m sure they’ll let me in soon.” He wouldn’t give up without trying everything he could, no matter how uncomfortable the sight of the golden city made Impactor.

Impactor revved his engine in frustration, to which Megatron could only shrug. When he didn’t move, Megatron said, “You can go if you want. There’s probably some problem with the gate that needs fixing, anyway.”

Impactor replied with a dry laugh. When he next spoke, his tone was almost insulting. “Sure. It’s called the ‘we let in three outsiders a vorn, no exceptions’ problem. Face it, we’re late.”

Megatron had to admit that Impactor was probably right, but they had made it here on time. He could wait for two days. He said as much to Impactor, who drove away without a word.

Once Impactor’s taillights faded in the distance, Megatron moved closer to the gate. The hours went by, the city’s forcefield casting a faint light on the surroundings as Hadeen disappeared from the sky. He could barely make out two guards standing on the other side of the gate, only a few meters away from him, but they failed to react to his waving. He gave a mental shrug; someone was likely following his every movement through a hidden camera, anyway.

After knocking on the gate and getting zapped for his efforts, Megatron sat down facing the highway and took a sealed cube from his subspace. He looked at the sky as he drank, mapping the unfamiliar stars to have something to do.

If nothing else, he’d have new topics to write about once back in Tarn.

As he contemplated writing something while waiting, another mech stepped into reach of his EM field without warning, and Megatron snapped to attention. Terminus had warned him of thieves and gangs that lurked on the highways out of Iacon, waiting to catch travelers unawares. But he’d also said that none of them dared get close to the gate; Iacon’s defense systems incinerated anyone causing trouble in view of the city.

The mech smiling down at him didn’t look desperate or hungry. His plating gleamed even in the low light and there were some bits of kibble on him that wouldn’t have lasted a week in the mines. He was also shorter than him by half.

What was an Iaconian—a rich Iaconian, at that—doing outside the city at this hour?

“Hey,” the new mech said.

“Hey?” Megatron echoed.

“Um.” The mech rubbed the back of his helm. “You wouldn’t happen to be trying to get into the city?”

“And if I am?” He forced his plating to clamp down. The question could’ve been a threat, but the mech didn’t _look_ very threatening. No use antagonizing him if he didn’t have to.

The mech’s smile turned apologetic as he reached a servo down towards him. “Then I need to see your passport and a signed admission letter.”

Megatron rose to his pedes and took a step back. “You trying to say you’re border patrol?” He backed up another step. “I don’t buy it. You’re not exactly a warframe.” Megatron may have on occasion gotten in trouble due to his anti-functionist views, but he wasn’t stupid. The Senate wasn’t known for its progressive hiring practices.

The mech sighed and, without saying anything more, started digging around in his subspace. Megatron wondered if he should take yet another step back, just in case the mech was looking for a weapon. Before he could do so, however, the mech exclaimed, “Ah-hah!” and pulled out an official-looking datapad. He turned it on and flipped it around to face Megatron.

Megatron zoomed in to read it.

By the grace of the Prime, the holder of this document server as:

Iacon border patrol unit 013.8102

Designation: Hot Rod of Nyon

Authorization: #2OB011/57668100034

Megatron relaxed only slightly. “How do I know that’s real?” The signature underneath did look like the Prime’s, but Megatron didn’t have any tools to check.

The mech—Hot Rod—sighed again. “Okay. Look. You can send me a non-functional copy of your documents on a short-range general comm. frequency. Does that work for you?”

He had to be kidding him. “You’d seriously risk getting a virus from me? Why?”

Hot Rod shrugged. “I’ll deal with it if it happens. Just send it. I don’t have all night.” Megatron frowned but sent the copies. Assuming that the mech was a real border guard, he couldn’t risk annoying him further. Megatron had to get in. And if this mech _was_ a border guard, maybe there had been some progress in improving inter-caste mobility since Terminus had visited?

Hot Rod took a moment to review the files, and then he let out a quiet chuckle, bright amusement making his optics sparkle. “Signed by senator Shockwave. But of course. Alright, follow me.”

He walked up to where one of the guards stood on the other side of the gate, and at his wave a hole barely big enough for Megatron to step through gradually formed.

After the opening stabilized, Megatron stepped through quickly after Hot Rod and nodded to the guard. “Thank you.”

It was Hot Rod who replied. “No problem, Megatron. Now, stay close to me and I’ll get you to the Academy in one piece.”

* * *

The Academy was adjacent to the Primal Palace, owned as it was by the Prime’s consort, senator Shockwave. The same senator that had signed Megatron’s admission letter on his visit to Tarn. Megatron hadn’t known any of it until Hot Rod had explained it to him, right after they had passed border inspection.

The drive to the city center was bound to take a while, and Hot Rod had asked him no less than three times whether he wanted to call a transport instead. He had refused each time. It had crossed his mind that Hot Rod could’ve wanted it for himself; Megatron’s altmode wasn’t made for speed, after all, and as his guide Hot Rod would have to limit his own speed, too.

But Megatron doubted he would have time for sightseeing once his studies began, making this his only chance to play a tourist. Still, he did reconsider his choice whenever they got stuck in a traffic jam in a market district. He had known Iacon was a big and lively city, but the amount of mechs walking around in the middle of the night cycle was staggering.

Finally, after driving for a small eternity, Hot Rod alerted Megatron to the Academy being visible in the distance, tucked into the side of a massive golden structure that Megatron assumed was the palace. And once they passed the last of the surrounding buildings and he could see the two buildings properly, Megatron had to reconsider his wording. Unlike what it had seemed when looked at from a narrow alleyway kilometers away, The Academy and the palace lay across a courtyard big enough to house several Titans. Even the smaller guardhouses were large enough to accommodate hundreds of warframes, and the Academy must have been several hundred meters in length. The palace, however, towered over all of it. ‘Massive’ was a vast understatement.

The Academy and the courthouses were made of some white alloy, while the palace looked made of a mix of gold and crystal. How the structure was stabilized, Megatron couldn’t begin to guess. Even if he tried to dismiss the logistical nightmare the buildings must have been, the vanity and unrestricted opulence would have ground on his gears. He could have worked for a million years as a miner and not been able to afford a single ornament.

Oblivious to his musings, Hot Rod picked one of the roads stretching across the courtyard at random and slowed down enough that Megatron could accelerate to drive beside him. He asked, “Impressive, isn’t it?”

Megatron cleared his vocalizer. “Indeed.” He decided to poke at the subject with care. “But don’t you think it’s a bit much?”

Hot Rod laughed. “Tell that to the old Senate. No reason to scrap it now, though.”

“I suppose.” At least the mech wasn’t offended. Then again, his ID had said he was from Nyon originally, so maybe he wasn’t too fond of the Senate.

They drove in silence for some minutes, but Megatron had already learned that Hot Rod wasn’t a quiet mech. As expected, he soon brought up a new topic. “Hey, so… What is Tarn like?”

“What?” Mechs from the Torus-states didn’t often show interest in anything _but_ the Torus-states, and from Nyon or not, Hot Rod’s accent and paintjob were definitely Iaconian now.

But Hot Rod shrugged with his spoiler. “Your ID says you’re from Tarn. I’ve never been out of Iacon, so I was wondering.” Never? A transported spark?

Well. If he was Iaconian through-and-through, Hot Rod probably wanted to hear about how great Iacon was compared to Tarn. Megatron didn’t especially want to paint a negative picture of his home, though. He had to carefully consider his wording.

Hot Rod didn’t let him do that, however. He swerved suddenly closer and flashed his biolights in apology. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking. You don’t need to answer that.”

“It’s fine.” Megatron hurried to reassure him, slightly alarmed though he was by the reckless driving. “Iacon is just so different, I don’t know where to begin.”

Hot Rod perked up instantly and veered even closer. “Then do you mind if I ask about specific things?”

Megatron moved across a lane to get some distance from Hot Rod. A crash between them wouldn’t end well for the speedster, even at their low speed. “Why not,” he said once he had settled in his lane.

Hot Rod’s biolights flashed again, this time in a happy gesture. “Great! So, question number one. Is it true that you Tarnians all live underground? I know you’re miners, but don’t you guys ever want to see Hadeen? Or the stars?” It was… Not a bad question, all in all. It wasn’t something Megatron had ever thought about, but Iacon was built on top of the planet, not carved into its crust.

He tried to emulate Terminus’s stern ‘supervisor tone’ in his answer. “It depends, but most miners only come out of the tunnels when there’s an emergency. Lots of us have equipment that would suffer from the radiation, so it’s better to stay underground than risk exposure. And, that’s at least two questions, not one.”

“Huh. Cool.” Hot Rod fell silent for only a moment. “Do you have any mods like that? I mean, I guess not, what with you being out here, but-”

“I do. And they aren’t mods.” He contemplated whether he should say any more to a stranger but decided that there was little risk in it. Besides, Hot Rod was either the best actor he had seen or was honestly interested in the topic. “I have a set of seismographic sensors on my helm. They’re covered by a protective helmet when not in use, though.”

Hot Rod’s spoiler wiggled at the explanation, but Megatron hadn’t met enough speedsters to know what it meant. His following glyphs, however, made the meaning all too clear. “That must be stressful. Useful, yeah, but I’d be constantly worried about breaking them. Tall frame like yours, must be constantly hitting the ceiling.” And then he _winked_.

Megatron laughed. “I’d worry about breaking that spoiler if I were you.” Despite his teasing, he was all too aware of his own biolights blazing hot without his permission.

Hot Rod slowly circled around Megatron to his other side, hesitating there. Then he started going around him in loops.

“Yes?”

Hot Rod slowed his pace, but didn’t stop. Megatron heard him clear his vocalizer.

Eventually, Hot Rod said, “Look. I know I’m only supposed to get you from point A to point B, but...” He pinged Megatron with his personal comm. frequency, and in a tone hovering somewhere between eager and nervous, he mumbled, “You can delete it if you want.”

Instead of saying anything verbally, he registered Hot Rod’s frequency in his contacts archive and sent a ping through.

“Oh.”

Hot Rod paused in his circling and fell a couple meters behind him. “Thank you.”

Megatron said, “I can’t guarantee I’ll have much time to socialize, though.” He at least hoped he wouldn’t. It was nothing against Hot Rod, but he was here so he could be of more use back home. No one who cared yet knew how to fix Terminus. He had to succeed.

Hot Rod sighed in agreement. “Probably not.” Then he accelerated back up to his side. “The medical program is intense.”

“Experience?” Megatron asked it as a joke, but Hot Rod was a speedster border guard. Additional medical studies wouldn’t have been the strangest thing about him.

Hot Rod shrugged again. “Just something I’ve heard.”

They transformed at the bottom of the stairs to the Academy. Now that he was close enough to zoom in on them, he could see that every single step was covered in etchings. Most of it was writing, likely in the Primal vernacular, but Megatron didn’t have the language pack and wasn’t willing to ask. It was one of Terminus’s strictest warnings: “Don’t tell them what you don’t know, only what you do.”

Maybe he could access the library here and download the pack for free.

Unaware of his plans, Hot Rod waved down a guard and gave Megatron one of the bright grins he seemed to favor. The guard looked between them, and Megatron then got the distinct impression that he and Hot Rod were talking through comms. The conversation didn’t last long, however, and the guard was soon heading back up the stairs. He had treated Megatron as if he didn’t exist. Both Impactor and Terminus had told him to expect this type of treatment most of the time, but it still stung.

Thankfully, Hot Rod noticed his discomfort and was quick to explain, softly so that no one else could hear. “Megatron, he’s not trying to be rude. Damus has issues with his vocalizer, and the guards aren’t allowed to comm. those without a clearance.”

He felt plating he hadn’t known had risen up settle back down, and hoped he hadn’t scared the mech. “Then I believe I owe him an apology.”

Hot Rod chuckled and patted him on the arm. “No need. We cleared it up over comms. already. Shockwave brings so many odd cyber-ducks in, the guards know what to expect.” Shockwave? Without the title? Using a senator’s designation like that was dangerous even in Tarn. Megatron had to quickly reconsider Hot Rod. Either the mech was horribly reckless, and possibly a member of a resistance group trying to gauge Megatron’s intentions… Or he was someone with friends in very high places. Or, potentially, someone trying to pull Megatron into a trap.

Either way, Megatron knew he had to be extremely careful of what he said to the mech.

He suppressed his unease as best he could and returned Hot Rod’s smile. “Alright, then. Thank you for all your help. I think I should go find someone to show me to my hab, now. It’s getting late.”

Hot Rod’s smile twitched before smoothing back on. “You’re welcome. Uh, and good luck with your studies.” Then the mech was gone, transformed and driving towards… The palace?

Megatron had been right to be worried. He didn’t think he had said anything too incriminating, but he couldn't help worrying.

There was nothing Megatron could do about it now, in any case. Hot Rod had his comm. frequency and knew where he was staying, so if he wanted Megatron brought in for questioning he could easily find him.

He turned back towards the stairs and started climbing, combing through his memories from the last few hours for reassurance.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this. Poor Megs. :D
> 
> This is set in a very specific no-war au, so here’s some more detail about the setting if anyone’s interested. (Most of these things Megatron doesn’t yet know when he arrives in Iacon):  
> -There was a revolution a couple thousand years back in Iacon. Senator Proteus tried to install Sentinel Prime on the throne of Cybertron. Through a lucky series of events, Sentinel and Proteus got killed and the real Matrix was found. The new Prime has since shut off Iacon and rules it with an iron fist—mostly to push through reforms that are extremely unpopular amongst the Senate.  
> -Some rumours of the above events have made it out of Iacon, but no one can quite believe it’s not just your garden variety senate infighting.  
> -Also, the first Ark’s crew got eaten by a black hole.
> 
> And then the kicker(s):  
> -Shockwave is the Prime, and Orion (who goes by Optimus Prime in public) has gotten the fake Matrix built into him to lead would-be assassins astray. It’s harder to kill an ex-enforcer with built-in guns than a scientist with zero fighting skills, after all. They have quite an epic romance, full of espionage and life-threatening situations… Topped off with Shockwave’s weekly crises about what colors to paint himself.  
> -Hot Rod is their mentee, a spark that lit up in a corner of their hiding place in Nyon during the revolution. Coincidentally, the Matrix was found only a few hundred meters away.  
> -At the time of this fic, Hot Rod is on a mission given to him by Shockwave to learn as much as he can about all the different jobs and lifestyles of the people of Iacon, which is why he’s on border patrol. The plan is he’ll flash fry anyone who tries anything.  
> -On the other end of things, Megatron is in for quite a ride as a medical student at the Academy. His teachers will be the two genius medics, Pharma and Ratchet, who spend most of their time on marital squabbling.  
> -Many millions of years later, the Matrix will call to Hot Rod and Shockwave will abdicate. Megatron, the new Lord High Protector and chief medic of the biggest hospital in Kaon, will then joke about needing to install a fusion cannon to the arm without a built-in surgical kit.


End file.
